


Where the Caged Bird Sings

by Destiny_in_the_Universe



Series: The Caged [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Auctions, Black Markets, Blood and Torture, Everything Hurts, F/M, Fear of Discovery, Flocks, Illegal Activities, John Whump, Kidnapping, Lots of Whump, M/M, Mycroft Whump, Non-Sexual Slavery, Physical Abuse, Protective Mycroft, Sherlock Whump, Torture, Vulnerability, Whump, Winged Sherlock Holmes, Wings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-15
Updated: 2019-02-13
Packaged: 2019-10-10 08:56:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,725
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17422817
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Destiny_in_the_Universe/pseuds/Destiny_in_the_Universe
Summary: Avians and humans have coexisted for the longest time. However, recent changes in society have led to the species being forced into hiding due to illegal criminal activity that has kept them away from humans. When Sherlock, alongside his brother, end up captured and forced into a dark reality, they have to fight for survival in order to see the light of day.Though, how long will it take before they break?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This series is not for the faint of heart. A handful of touchy subjects will be breached such as torture, slavery, and other matters. If you cannot handle this, I suggest you do not read this. 
> 
> -dream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A trip to the Americas will alter everything and throw Sherlock into a world he didn't expect

The air was a filled with a darkened environment and an endless chill, taking into the pathway that seemed to only radiate the sense that something was coming. The sound of a train coming to a stop could be registered by the whistling which echoed out. Stepping into the station that accompanied it was a young man, his blue eyes glinting against the pale glow of the moonlight. 

To the normal person, he seemed like any other individual, with his curly black locks and his blue irises, though in reality… he was something truly special. 

 

His name was Sherlock, originally from England but having come to America in midst of a new case with a rather interesting lead. A consultant detective with quite the title to him. When in fact, he was also an avian. Avians had been a rare species that came with a gene which allowed humans to have wings, resembling that of birds or even angels. 

 

Sherlock was, even then, an oddity amongst the avians. Wings usually combined with the color of one’s hair, but his were a starking, brilliant white with the slightest hint of black and gray. They were covered by the coat he was wearing, the feathers shifting briefly against his back. The consulting detective frowned, pulling the scarf he was wearing closer to his neck as he walked down the practically empty street. He got the prickling sensation he was being followed, eyes narrowing sharply as he readied his wings to take flight and disappear. 

 

“Now what’s someone like you doing way out here?” A voice called out. 

 

Sherlock tensed, letting his appendages move against his back one last time. He suddenly snarled and pushed off his coat, spreading out the wings out, giving several flaps as he took to the air. Oh, no, he wasn’t about to get mugged. 

 

“What-” There was a sudden startled shout, one of the people’s eyes widened as they saw the gleaming feathers sprouting out of Sherlock’s back. 

 

“Do not let him get away!” The second man, his beady eyes flashing, yelled. 

 

Sherlock growled as he took to the air and barreled into one of the men, his wings knocking with an immense amount of strength into his attackers’ body. He hissed, a low mixture of bird and human noises escaping his mouth, spinning around to hit with the large parts of his body again. 

 

A sudden new pair of footsteps rang out and Sherlock didn’t have a lot of time to react to the quick pipe that collided against his head, sending him rolling to his side. He struggled to form another syllable, gasping in sharp pain as he was pinned down by the boot pressing into his stomach. The avian went wild, struggling and screeching in a panic of more animal-like noises, trying anything he could to free himself. 

 

This place clearly wasn’t avian friendly.

 

“Now what do we have here?” The voice purred. 

 

A man with cropped, dark hair was smiling, his interest peaked even more at the white wings that were attached to Sherlock’s back. He’d never seen such beautiful looking feathers, especially when he’d expected to see something entirely different. 

 

“You’re a different kind of specimen.” 

 

The consultant still looked livid, trying to push away the people who had some sort of strange fascination with him, though judging by the oddly hungry expressions and the way they viewed his feathers, he already knew. Kidnappers, more specifically traffickers. They were a rare thing nowadays, though they often took avians and sometimes removed the wings, intentions on selling them. The avians were either killed or left to die somewhere, but the majority of the time they disappeared and were never seen again. 

 

The freedom of avians varied from place to place, country to country. 

 

Sherlock felt his heart beating rapidly against his chest, trying to control the building of panic rising. He was in a foreign environment and if he disappeared here, there would be no one that would notify his kidnapping. 

 

Though, there was also the fact that his brother would eventually catch wind of this, especially if Sherlock ceased answering his texts, which would bring hell upon the people who were this ridiculous and idiotic to kidnap the only consulting detective. 

 

Sherlock refused to cry out as he was hauled to his feet, his arms wrenched painfully behind his back and firmly secured in place by a pair of zip ties. He strained against them, but it didn’t seem to work. They were far too tight for his comfort.

 

“I suggest you come quietly.” 

 

Right as his kidnapper spoke, Sherlock stretched out his wings, which only ended with a sudden grunt when a blade was pressed to his back. He snarled, not able to do anything when his wings were tied down, preventing his ability to fly. 

 

“Let go of me,” Sherlock made out through gritted teeth. 

 

“Are you going to behave?” 

 

Sherlock bared his teeth and moved to strike forward, forced back by the sudden piece of rag that was forced between his teeth, muffling his attempts of screaming for help. He fought hard, which only ended up with a strike to his temple and being manhandled into a car, tossed into a cage that was locked to prevent him attempting to escape. 

 

The drive to what was referred to as The Underground, a network that was the main line of people who worked within the trafficking system, felt as if it would never end. Sherlock had no idea how long he spent in the cage, but judging from the distance… it seemed to have taken up at least a few hours. 

 

When the car finally came to a stop, the cage was carried out, the group holding Sherlock hostage disappearing into the network and letting the large item drop to the ground. 

 

Sherlock knocked his body into the bars, hissing, but he had to free himself. He couldn’t do anything, tied down and gagged, unable to even loosen the pins and needles forming on his feathers due to how tight they’d been bound. He narrowed his eyes sharply, struggling again when he was suddenly removed from his enclosure and knocked to the ground, gasping as a kick was aimed at his side. 

 

He wasn’t able to fight back, biting back a groan and forcing himself not to struggle anymore, pulled again onto his feet. Sherlock complied when they made him enter another part of this underground facility as the gag was released from his mouth.

 

“This is what you call a network?” Sherlock scoffed. “A secondhand job at best,” he sneered, not reacting when he was hit across the right cheek by a fist. 

 

“I’d watch your mouth. You have a week here before auction.” 

 

Auction? Sherlock’s blood ran cold, barely having enough time to react as he was shoved yet into another cage, locked inside without any means of getting out. He pressed his back to the bars and slid down, his legs drawn up to his chest, eyes closing. 

 

If he was unable to get out, he’d become someone’s property and that was the one thing he didn’t need. 

 

What a long night this would be. 

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The reality of this has still not immersed. Each chapter will only get gradually worse with time and there will be a bleak outlook of the future, though that doesn't mean this will actually turn out terribly. 
> 
> The universe I have created inside this AU is quite beautiful, despite its dark aspects, since there is still a lot more that has yet to be covered.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock is thrown into the world of the Underground and it's a fight for survival before the auction

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, it is I! I'm not dead! Here is chapter two~ 
> 
> I will try to maintain a good timeline with the updates, but I am in uni which is the reason for my absences. This is one of my favorite designed universes and I plan to give you all its content. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy~

Sherlock awoke with a horrible headache, his wings cramped due to the ties still on him. He frowned, the avian being dragged out of his cage once it opened. The ties on his feathers were released, allowing him access to extending them though they hurt immensely and it was a struggle with the way they’d been positioned all night. 

 

“You’re to bed clothed and fed. Any attempts of escaping and fighting will receive punishment.” One of the underground workers spoke sharply, shoving Sherlock forward. 

 

The consultant groaned in pain, trying to twist his arms free of the zip ties though that proved futile. He raised his wings to full height, appearing bigger, hovering inches of the ground when he heard someone get closer. The white feathers gleamed beneath the dimly lit environment. 

 

“New arrival, huh?” A man with dark hair and shaded brown eyes smiled at the startled avian. He was focused on the extra appendages attached to the other’s back. 

 

Sherlock glared at his captor, but didn’t back up and just held his ground, letting his wings flap vigorously to show off that he was not pleased with the situation. 

 

“I do apologize for the situation, but you are a rather rare specimen. We just had to have you for selling.” 

 

The avian was still furious, but he forced a smirk on his face. 

 

“I know for a fact you have high authority in here,” Sherlock stated calmly. Even with being kidnapped and smacked around a few times, he refused to break. “You have a certain amount of wealth, allowing you to possess those suits you seem fond of wearing.”

 

The brown-eyed man raised a brow, before suddenly laughing. He had an accent lacing his words, something European like a mixture of French and something else that was a bit harder to make out. He wore a business suit, a faded beige-brown with a tie hanging loosely underneath it. 

“You have spirit, that’s impressive. Most break upon arrival,” the man, who came to introduce himself as Alonzo, chuckled wryly. This new avian would certainly prove harder to be given an owner, but it would still end up granting him a lot of money due to the wings that the foreigner had. 

 

Sherlock glared at his captors before being escorted into yet another area, beginning to notice that his feet were bare. He frowned and was shown a large tub, the avian folding his wings against his back and staring at it in confusion. Before he realized what was happening, Sherlock was grabbed tightly and thrown into the tub. 

 

He spluttered and gasped, trying to fight against the people holding him, wings flapping wildly to get loose. Cold water hit his body, feeling when it was poured on top of his hair and coursed down. He couldn’t even find a moment to scream, some sort of chemical being tossed at him and he was scrubbed to wash away the germs. 

 

Sherlock was shivering when he finally was let go, the avian’s feathers dripping with the odd type of soap detergent and cold water. He looked like an extremely wet rat, drawing his large wings close to his body in an attempt to get warm. 

 

Alonzo didn’t comment on the new arrival’s appearance, deciding instead to begin talking on an entirely different matter. 

 

“You will not spend all day in the cages,” he addressed the curly-haired male, pausing briefly before continuing on. “There will be days where you will be trained to follow the rules of the auction. You will receive meals at sunrise and sunset. Listen to us and you will cared for, but if you choose to act out… this will not be a fun time for you. Is that clear?” 

 

Sherlock stayed silent, only letting out a grunt when one of Alonzo’s apparent followers cuffed him around the head. 

 

“He’s talking to you, rodent.” 

 

After a moment, the consultant gritted his teeth and hissed out, “It’s understood.” 

Alonzo looked at Sherlock for a moment, contemplating his next decision before turning to a young worker, someone who looked to be about twenty, and flashed a widened smile. 

 

“Feed him.” 

 

“But sir, he-” 

 

The suit-wearing man gave loose a soft sigh before speaking again. 

 

“I advise you feed him. He’s only been here a day. He needs food to live or he won’t be any good when the auction comes around.” Alonzo pointed out. 

 

Sherlock furrowed his brow at Alonzo, wondering why he was getting fed. Was it due to being new and needing to be maintained for auction? Or did it extend to Alonzo simply trying to do his job without truly bringing harm to an avian?

 

Even then, the food wasn’t all that great. It was two slices of bread and some type of fruit that Sherlock didn’t recognize. He ate part of it, refusing to eat anything else. 

 

“You’ve been offered food, you insolent little rat!” 

 

Sherlock was thrown to the ground and kicked across the ribs, but he didn’t scream. He gritted his teeth, giving a short grunt before being lifted back up, the food forced down his throat. Gagging, he tried to spit it back out, though in the long run… he was only able to swallow. 

 

“There… wasn’t that better?” One of the older and meaner members of the Underground sneered. 

 

Sherlock panted and glared at the other, but eventually just stopped speaking altogether. Back in London, he had room to snarl and make comments about people just fine. Avians displayed dominance, and it was a common occurrence for Sherlock to be giving quite blunt, sarcastic ways of talking, but here… one wrong move and he might end up in worse trouble than he wanted. 

He just hoped that his brother, Mycroft, would find him soon. 

* * *

 

Mycroft, upon hearing that Sherlock had never made it to the hotel, was beyond concerned. He knew his little sibling had the notion that danger didn’t matter, especially when it came to solving a case. He had decided that something was wrong, and in a desperate way of knowing what had happened, his next thought of action came to be going to America and finding Sherlock. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft goes on a search for his brother

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel very accomplished with this chapter. It's somewhat dark, but nothing that you all can't handle. If it were to get darker, I would have warned you. 
> 
> Take care, my lovely readers!

Mycroft frowned as he reached the North American country, the United States of America, eyes narrowing while he tried to pinpoint a route to where Sherlock would have gone. He made his way down the street, the government official tensing up. The auburn-haired male sighed sharply, deciding to start by the train station since that was where Sherlock had vanished. 

 

One of Mycroft’s contacts had been meant to meet Sherlock at a building on the other side of the train station, yet the man stated the consultant had never showed. 

 

Considering avian regulations in other countries, Mycroft’s wings remained hidden by his suit jacket. Had he been anywhere else, they would be spread wide open, showing off his dominance to anyone who got close. By the time he reached the train station, evening had already begun to set. 

 

The government avian had been searching the area for several minutes, seeing the faint traces of what seemed like a scuffle. Since it had been roughly three days since Sherlock’s disappearance, most of the evidence faded away. Mycroft stopped suddenly, seeing a few white feathers which hadn’t flown away. 

 

His eyes widened in sheer surprise, recognizing them as the feathers that his little brother had. Mycroft took one, holding it in the palm of his hand, when he stilled, his heightened sense of hearing and smell picking up that he was not alone. He tensed, getting ready to fight if it came to. 

 

“Just what do you think you’re doing?” A voice hissed, closing a hand over the avian’s mouth. 

Mycroft’s instincts flared up as he dug his teeth into the skin of his attacker, smirking when he heard a howl of pain from the man. He rolled his eyes, though suddenly, and without warning, a pair of auburn wings with faint silver and black markings flared out wide. 

 

“You’re-” The other man, someone with sharp eyes and short hair, gasped. 

 

Mycroft bared his teeth, the government official and avian raised the appendages, his eyes flashing as he practically dared Sharp Eyes to attack him. What he didn’t expect was having something shot at his neck, like some sort of tranquilizer. 

 

It took several seconds, but his head began spinning and his movements became more sluggish. Mycroft didn’t give up either way, trying to lunge at his opponents, despite the feeling of blossoming pain since he couldn’t coordinate his next move. 

 

“Having trouble?” Someone taunted from behind him. 

 

Mycroft groaned, feeling extremely dizzy, not even noticing when his hands were roughly pulled behind his back and secured in place by a zip tie. He didn’t exactly have the strength to fight back with his wings, which even then were bound by some sort of net, though he snarled weakly and fought as best as he could to free himself. 

 

“Easy now,” one of his apparent kidnappers cooed. 

 

The avian suddenly slumped down, completely unconscious as the drug began to take hold. He didn’t really remember the moment when he’d been thrown into the back of a van and locked into cage. His blue irises slowly opened, groaning softly. The auburn haired male tried to rub his palm against his forehead, only to realize that his hands were bound behind his back. 

 

Struggling to escape the bindings, Mycroft let out a grunt, his wings held by the net entangled around them. He cried out in pain when the jostling of the van knocked him to the ground and he landed roughly on his side, hitting his head against the bars. 

 

Groaning, he pushed his feet against the bars of the cage and wriggled until he was finally up in a sitting position. Mycroft tried once more to loosen the zip tie on his hands, though it proved futile since they wouldn’t loosen. He suddenly snarled as the back door to the van opened yet couldn’t do much. 

 

“Get up and move.” One of the people who had captured him hissed. 

 

Mycroft growled lowly as he struggled, refusing to give up. He let out a startled screech, panicking more when he was grabbed by the shirt collar and hauled out, snarling and kicking as hard as he could. 

 

“Get him to-” 

 

“LET ME GO!” Mycroft howled, a hand closing over his mouth to muffle his screams. 

 

“Shut him up!” 

 

Before the government official realized what had been yelled, someone forced his mouth open and quickly slipped in a piece of cloth, tying it to the back of his head. He gagged on his own saliva, testing out the fabric between his teeth and running his tongue against it. It was uncomfortable, but he had no choice to make do with it until someone removed the gag. 

 

Being unable to fight back, Mycroft was easily subdued, not even bothering to strain against the zip tie. He stumbled forward and was eventually pushed inside a cage. He growled lowly, though kept silent, not that he could say anything in the first place. 

 

The Underground, as he began to call the place, was certainly something different altogether. 

 

For some reason, they had kidnapped him, and it went back to him being avian. Mycroft wasn’t too pleased, yet he’d felt a form of relief when the bindings on his wings were removed. He glared at his captors, muffled noises escaping his lips. 

 

“He’d be perfect for the auction… if it weren’t for all the fighting.” Someone whispered. 

Auction? Oh, now he was screwed, feeling his own heart race against his chest. 

 

Mycroft’s arms were released, only to be pushed into another section of the Underground and was practically knocked into the wall. He gasped, forcing himself not to cower away when someone twisted a hand through his hair and made him walk forward. 

 

“You need to be taught your place.” A voice whispered into his ear. 

 

Muffled words escaped him, his eyes flashing as he struggled to get away. He wasn’t going to let himself get beaten when he had to find Sherlock. 

 

Teeth bared in a snarl, though it wasn’t as evident thanks to the gag, Mycroft bucked and lashed out with his leg, fighting hard to escape the hold. 

 

“L’mph!” He gasped. 

 

“DERRICK!” A voice barked out, male by the sounds of it. 

 

The avian was released, his wings flared out wide and shaking ever so slightly, but he didn’t move from his defensive stance. Mycroft couldn’t speak, so he showed it off through his large appendages. 

 

“Al-Alonzo?” Derrick gaped, stepping back and away from Mycroft. 

 

Alonzo stood there, looking extremely unamused by the marks on the newest arrival’s neck and the ruffled hair. He scowled sharply, glaring at Derrick. 

 

“Haven’t I said it repeatedly that we don’t beat them? That’s for their owners to do!” Alonzo hissed as he gestured to the avian in the room. 

 

Mycroft was still tense, the winged male panting harshly, but decided to fall into Alonzo’s words and walked over to him. While the idea of having an owner didn’t please him, Alonzo was a far better option than Derrick. 

Alonzo frowned at Derrick for a moment before turning back to the avian. 

 

“Come with me. You need to be fed,” he ordered Mycroft, and the winged human, having nothing to truly help him in this situation, decided to follow. Alonzo paused briefly, removing the gag and bindings from the government official. 

 

“Why didn’t you-” 

 

“I didn’t let him hit you because it’s not our place.” 

 

Mycroft pondered this for a moment, the auburn haired male deciding that maybe there was some sort of decency left. He sighed sharply, before his mind traveled back to his brother and what their future would entail. 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time is running out for Sherlock and Mycroft. The Underground's auction approaches and with barely any chance of getting away, they might end up bought and sold

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's almost here. Things will be taking a different turn from here on out. The Auction is coming and what befalls after will be... dark, for lack of better term. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy the story, my lovely readers!

Sherlock was tossed into yet another section of the Underground, his white wings extended out and trying to appear menacing. He didn’t feel like backing down, baring his teeth as his lips curled back into a snarl. The avian glanced up to see a woman watching him closely, a grin on her face. 

 

“You’re a fighter, aren’t you?” The woman sneered. 

 

Sherlock flapped his wings, the consultant suddenly screeching as he had his feathers pulled back behind him. He struggled against the hold, snarling furiously while hands tugged at his clothes. Fighting even more, he bared his teeth and gasped when the woman forced some clothes onto him. They didn’t smell very nice. 

 

It had a horrible scent of alcohol and who knows what else. 

 

White feathers were now all over the floor due to how hard they had been wrenched behind him. 

 

Sherlock didn’t even realize he was trembling, not even when he was taken back to his cage and locked inside. He went silent, refusing to speak, his slightly ruffled wings drawn closely into himself. The avian’s only thoughts were on escape yet right now it seemed like some idea that didn’t appear in any way possible.

 

He shouldn’t even be experiencing this since he was normally capable of seeing the solution though here, in the Underground with its auction, he didn’t find anything getting better. Sherlock finally glanced up when he saw a young adolescent boy struggling against his captors. His eyes narrowed in slight anger, but in the long run… he ignored it. 

 

He had other things to worry about. 

 

Sherlock watched every time that the guards passed by. He was mentally cataloging the rounds in which they showed, deciding it might be a good idea to hold this for later use. 

 

Minutes slowly became hours and then that spiraled into two days. 

 

Sherlock started getting more aggressive. Every instinct screamed at him that he needed his flock, his wings extending out to full view every time he was released from the cage. A series of odd chirps would leave his mouth and he would growl at anyone who got too close. 

 

The avian didn’t care. He would sit down on all fours when he was inside his cage and held out his wings as wide as he could, showing that he wasn’t going to back down. 

 

Four days remaining. 

 

Mycroft seemed to be taking his time getting here, but even Sherlock felt something was wrong in regards to his brother. 

 

Knowing his older sibling, and even with the fact that Mycroft was part of Sherlock’s flock, there should have already been an extracting team. The auburn-haired avian was an effective part of the government, but when it came to Sherlock, all bets were off. 

 

A lesser known fact was that members of a flock were telepathically connected, allowing them to communicate with one another and sense when one another was hurt, though Sherlock hadn’t felt anything from Mycroft since being kidnapped. He didn’t know why that was, and although he’d never admit it, he was deeply worried for the safety of his brother. 

 

It happened a day later. 

 

Sherlock was out in his usual table, picking at the slop of food they expected them to eat. He didn’t want anyone getting close and even snarled at other avians. The consultant suddenly drew out his wings and his irises slitted into something short of feline. His posture went rigid, nose wrinkling before coming back to normal, his gaze focused on someone at another section of the room. 

 

Those wings. 

Auburn wings, faint silver and black markings. Even that gingery-dark hair. Mycroft. 

 

The sudden knowledge of  _ Mycroft  _ being here, forced against his will to bend to their captors, caused a spark of anger. Sherlock bared his teeth before knocking the back of his hand against the tray that contained his food. His own white wings drew out, flapping furiously as he disobeyed staying in his section and bolted towards his flock member. 

 

“Stop him, you fools!” A voice barked. 

 

Sherlock screeched, startling almost everyone. He took into notice the fact that Mycroft had faded bruises and some scratches on his feathers. A surge of sudden anger coursed through the younger Holmes when he saw this, realizing that even with Alonzo’s apparent intentions to keep avians from being protected, there was evidential abuse. 

 

“Sherlock!” Mycroft yelled, his appendages extending wide and pulling Sherlock close. His nose buried into his brother’s hair, taking a small whiff, registering the scent. Many members of flocks would smell one another in a non-intimate way as a form of friendliness and showing they can trust one another. 

 

A guard suddenly grabbed Sherlock by the back of the shirt, throwing him against the wall. 

 

“Don’t touch him,” Mycroft growled weakly. His eyes flashed darkly, the man’s wings drawn out at full view. 

 

“That’s enough.” The smooth words of Alonzo rang out. He looked irritated once more, not even bothering to demonstrate some form of dominance over the guard. 

 

“But sir…” 

 

“Enough.” Alonzo repeated, his words sharp. His gaze never faltered from Sherlock, watching calmly when the white winged male was released. 

 

“Alonzo, he-” 

“They’re part of a flock.” Alonzo stated, pinching the bridge of his nose for a moment. He rarely ever captured members of the same flock though by the looks of it, these two were brothers. Actual siblings tended to get more aggressive when the other was harmed in someway, resulting in extremely problematic situations. Alonzo had seen only a few cases of it, but the three had all ended the same way. 

 

The guard didn’t say anything. 

 

“We need to keep them together and have them bought by the same person.” Alonzo added. 

 

“Sir-” 

 

“That’s final.” 

 

Sherlock frowned though he carefully moved back towards his brother. He didn’t lean into him, instead lingering by the older Holmes’ side and simply raising his wings slightly in a display of frustration and anger. 

 

“... yes, sir.” 

 

Alonzo glanced at the two brothers for a minute before speaking. 

 

“Take them back to the cages,” he ordered. “Don’t separate them.” The man added. 

 

Mycroft didn’t protest this time, one wing outstretched to rest on Sherlock’s back and guide the younger towards the cage. He was glad when his little brother remained silent and there was no attempt to resist. 

 

Sherlock frowned when he saw the state of the cell, the avian tilting his head and flapping them. This place was even dirtier than where he’d been before, an even fouler scent ringing in the air. 

 

Something along the lines of blood. 

 

Mycroft growled lowly when Sherlock was removed from his side, yet didn’t protest, seeing that it wouldn’t end well. He went somewhat submissive, entering his own cage while Sherlock was placed in the one beside him. 

 

“Mycroft,” Sherlock began when they were finally left alone. “We’ll get out of here… won’t we?” 

 

Mycroft sighed before he answered. 

 

“We won’t stop fighting, no matter what. Even if we get bought… we will not cease the attempts to escape.” 

 

Sherlock wouldn’t speak after that. Something in the back of his mind told him that neither he nor his brother would manage to escape. 

 

Mycroft’s gaze turned up towards the roof of his cage, not saying anything either. Slowly but surely, he began to fall asleep with only the dreams of a bleak tomorrow. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feel free to leave comments, kudos, and reviews! 
> 
> Hateful criticism will end up being tossed in the fire and dealt with by the government himself.


End file.
